


Watch Out for St. Trinian's

by pierrette



Category: St. Trinian's
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 15:01:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7443610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pierrette/pseuds/pierrette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story written a long time ago, slowly being re-worked and re-published.</p><p>St. Trinian's is a boarding school in England. But far from the jolly hockey sticks ideal of Cheltenham Ladies, St. Trinian's is a breeding ground for anarchy and mayhem. After thwarting the government's attempts to close down the school, the girls are ready to celebrate. However, when a precious jewel goes missing, suspicions fall on a group of the girls, and their enigmatic headmistress. Can the girls save Camilla? Will they find the diamond and clear their names?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

It was the night after the morning before and the Minister for Education was a broken man. On the table in front of him was a half-empty bottle of whiskey: he had long ago forsaken the glass tumbler next to it.

"I don't know how she did it." He muttered. "How did that blasted woman set it up so perfectly, Darling?"

"I don't know, Sir." The pale man sighed heavily, and reached for the tumbler. Geoffrey slapped his hand away.

"I mean, how did she know that the press would be there? How did she make me open –" He took a swig from the whiskey bottle.

"The headlines were full of it, Sir. 'Education Minister Geoffrey Thwaites reveals all,' is the front page of the Times. 'Up front and personal with Thwaites' in the Mail. The Sun is calling you the worst page three model of all time." Alistair Darling quickly turned a stifled chuckle into a cough. It would not do to be caught laughing at his boss at this particular moment in time. Geoffrey groaned in response, and took yet another swig from his bottle.

"Something needs to be done about her, Darling." Geoffrey clunked the bottle down. "And those wretched students of hers. You know, they – oh!" He stopped short of admitting to Alistair that he knew that the girls of St. Trinian's had somehow both stolen and returned the 'Girl with the Pearl Earring' to the National Gallery from under the very noses of Geoffrey and the security guards. It was embarrassing enough that they had managed to beat Cheltenham Ladies in the final of that TV show and that he had been caught in a tryst with Camilla than admit that as well. He glugged another mouthful from his bottle.

"It can't survive, you know?" Geoffrey muttered. "It can't – Darling…"

Alaistair twitched. Even talking about the school was enough to set off his poor nerves, which were growing steadily worse as his boss's torment became more and more evident.

"How are we going to shut them down, though, Sir? They have at least £50,000 in the bank, as well as school fees.

"No…No, it simply cannot be allowed. That school cannot be allowed to survive." Geoffrey spoke with fervour, feverishly running his hand through his thinning hair. He would not stand to see that school, those girls, that – that Camilla! – win the day. Not after that.

"I'm going to find a way to stop them, Darling," he muttered, and drained the last of the whiskey from the tumbler.

"Yes we will…" Verity, peeping around the doorframe, clenched her fists. St. Trinian's was going down.


	2. Holidays

At St. Trinian's, the mood was very different to that at Downing Street. The place had been in uproar all night, and all day and only now were exhausted first years dropping into their beds in the attic, shattered from a full night of partying.

At the far end of the dormitory sat a small huddle of girls: Annabelle and the Posh Totty, Celia, Kelly, Andrea, Polly, the twins, and Saffron, a first year who followed Andrea like a shadow. Between them sat an open bottle of Trinski's.

"I still can't believe it actually worked though." Polly straightened her glasses, blinking. "I mean, it was brilliant."

"I can't believed you talked about - you know – on live TV." Chloe hissed her embarrassment, and leaned her head against Chelsea's arm. Chelsea blushed red.

"Just think. All those television deals – gone. Marry a footballer? Who's going to want to marry a girl who actually uses the bathroom?" She moaned.

Taylor rolled her eyes. "Get over it air head. You've said it now."

"Girls." Kelly stood up. She could see that this little meeting wasn't going to go anywhere unless she intervened, and quite frankly, she was exhausted. Planning and executing a heist was surprisingly tiring. The other girls looked up, most with grins on their faces. "Shut up now. We need to watch this."

She reached for the laptop balanced on the bed behind her, and brought it down onto her lap. The other girls crowded in, looking over her shoulder to watch what one of the many hockey stick cameras was capturing.

Downstairs, in their own common room, the mistresses were enjoying their own party. In one corner, Madame Le Farge and the Bursar were sharing a cigar. Matron and Miss Fritton were making cocktails in the sink. Even Miss Dickinson had let her hair down (quite literally!) and was enjoying a glass of lemonade. The girls upstairs giggled to see them.

"Miss Fritton," Miss Dickinson called over presently. Camilla hiccouphed on her drink and turned around, hastily swallowing the little blue pill that Beverley had handed to her. "Miss Fritton, what do you plan to do with the reward money?"

Miss Fritton put a hand on her hip. "Well, do you know, I hadn't thought."

"After taking out what we owe…" The bursar did some quick calculations, prompted by a whisper in his ear from Madame Le Farge not to forget the heist money, "We should have about –"

"BLEEDING HELL!" Taylor swore so loudly that a couple of the sleeping first years sleepily sat up and asked what was going on. The other girls looked at one another in amusement, before turning their attention back to the screen.

In the common room, Matron straightened her cap. "What about a holiday? They work so hard, the dear girls. Andrea looks ever so peaky… has done since she went into the sixth, come to think of it. And the other girls… Get a bit of colour in their cheeks."

"Matron, I'm not at all sure that she wants colour in her cheeks," Miss Fritton laughed. "But yes. A holiday? But where?" she mused, mentally running through a list of the most recent places St. Trinian's had visited.

"Banned from Egypt," The Bursar started, as Camilla counted off the places on her fingers.

"And Nigeria."

"Sri Lanka."

"The Congo."

"Italy."

"The Baltics…" Madame Le Farge finished.

"And Australia and America won't grant us visas. I really don't know where we could go." Miss Fritton tipped her half-full cocktail glass, gulping the rest of her cocktail in one.

Upstairs, the girls were looking at one another gleefully.

"A holiday, huh?"said Kelly. "Any ideas?"

"What about… Thailand?" Chelsea was practically bouncing in her seat. Though, of course, such a thing was most unbecoming and a swift nudge from Peaches soon put a stop to that.

Kelly grimaced. "You, at least, should remember that trip, Chelse."

"Why? What happened?" Annabelle asked from the back of the little group. Andrea turned to her with a rare grin. "Chelsea tried to hit on the prince… but it didn't quite work out."

"Ha!" Taylor held up her tumbler of Trinski, as if giving Chelsea a toast. "Bloody understatement, Morticia. She had us stuck back on a plane with a promise that if we ever set foot in the damn place again, we'd be strung up and stuck with an injection. Then again, Tish, that'd be right up your street, bit of execution." Taylor began to laugh.

Annabelle tried not to look shocked and failed. Andrea, on the other hand, stood up, scowling and her fist balled, so Kelly hastily stepped in.

"Cool it, you two. Where would you like to go?"

"Transylvania."

"Benidorm." The two answers came at once, and so did the peals of laughter, and the comments.

"Trying to find a holiday home, Samara?"

"Cheap and tacky, just like you!"

Jeers from the emos and swearing from chavs who were still awake started to echo through the dorm, and Paige, Taylor's mate, slowly sidled up to the group, and went to grab Andrea's hair.

"As if two on one is fair," Andrea protested as her head was jerked back. Taylor simply grinned.

"Scaredy cat." But after a glare from Kelly, the chav rolled her eyes and jerked her head. Paige roughly released Andrea's hair.

"I coulda looked after myself." Andrea grumbled at Kelly.

"Well, if you two are quite finished, I'd like to get back to discussing where we're going on holiday," Chelsea interrupted before either Kelly or Taylor could retort to Andrea. Annabelle still looked slightly horrified by the whole by-play, but Peaches nudged her and she shifted her expression back to the trademark serene puzzlement of the Posh Totty.

"Where do you want to go, twins?" Kelly asked, highly amused by the little by-play in front of her.

"Disneyland!" Was the twins' unanimous response.

"Florida, not Paris." Tania clarified.

"But Paris'd do." Tara added.

The older girls had already begun to sputter with laughter, and even Andrea and Taylor glanced quickly at each other, smirking, before quickly looking away.

"What's so funny?" Tara asked indignantly.

"When we were in first year, Miss Fritton took us to Disneyland." Andrea began, still smirking.

"An' Rosie, this girl in 6th form, yeah, snuck a load of vodka in her bag." Taylor shouted over Andrea.

"And being them, Kelly, Taylor and Andrea nicked it." Chelsea interrupted with a squeal. "And –"

"And took it into Disneyland with them." Chloe snorted in a most unladylike manner.

"We got into the back where the saddos put on their costumes, yeah?" Taylor took over the story, "And we put the Trinski in their drinks."

"Well, you know how strong that stuff is, don't you?" Peaches asked Annabelle as the other girls began to sputter with laughter.

"Mickey vommed all over some kid in the parade." Taylor hooted.

"And the security ended up grabbing the three of us and we spent the whole day sat in Disney jail." Andrea finished, as Kelly smirked.

"Wait, so you two were friends?" Annabelle nodded at Taylor and Andrea incredulously.

"The Terrible Trio."

"The Three Musketeers."

"And that was the first big prank we pulled off." Kelly grinned wryly. "But then these two turned into –"

"The living dead!"

"A trashy bubblehead."

"A pair of idiots." Kelly sighed and shook her head. "Sorry, twins, though. Disney can't handle St. Trinian's."


	3. Panic

The girls debated – well, argued might be a more precise description – long into the night about where they would go with the money. Well, actually, two girls argued. Fought. Now Andrea was asleep at one end of the dormitory, missing several pink extensions. Taylor, sporting a black eye, was curled in her bed at the opposite end to Andrea, quite contentedly clutching a fist full of bubblegum coloured hair. The other girls slept, or sprawled on their beds, chatting quietly lest they woke the warring sixth formers, or gambling in their tight packs.

The relative peace, though, was shattered by a loud gasp followed by the gasp of, “Kelly? Kelly! Come here, quickly.” It was Polly.

Leisurely, Kelly extracted herself from the fifth year emos she had been scolding for getting involved in Andrea’s fighting. With a final point of her finger, and a dead-eyed glare that she reserved for those who annoyed her, Kelly moved over to the Geeks’ section of the dorm, where she found Polly, pale-faced and pacing.

“What’s up, Pol?” Kelly looked with interest at the various computer projections on the dorm walls. “Stock market taken a plunge?”

“No, Kelly. Worse. Way worse.” Polly replied, spinning the Head Girl to look at her computer. “You’re going to want to sit down,” she muttered. 

“What am I – oh!” Kelly fell silent as she quickly scanned the news article Polly had left open on her laptop. “Holy sh-“ she breathed as she finished.

“We’re doomed, aren’t we?” Polly was still pacing. “This is it. No more Oxford. No Harvard. No prospects. I’m going to end up stacking shelves and eating microwave burgers every night.”

“That’s if you’re lucky,” Kelly replied grimly. If the police read the clues – and Kelly was sure that they would – the girls would be lucky if any of them saw the light of day for at least ten years. And those that’d be fingered as ringleaders – her and Polly included – would face longer than that. 

“What are we going to do?” Polly asked, wringing her hands. 

“We’re going to tell the others.” Kelly stood up abruptly. “OY!” She whistled piercingly, and at once, the girls stopped and looked over at her. “Girls, I need you to clear out for a bit. We need to figure out what’s going on. And when there’s a plan, we’ll tell you, right?”

There were a few discontented mutterings, and not for the first time did Kelly wonder if she’d handled the situation well. But, it was done. Slowly, the girls filtered out, until she and Polly were left alone with the Posh Totty, Celia, the twins and Annabelle.

“Time to wake ‘em up,” Kelly headed for Taylor’s bed, ready to hold the angry chav back from battering the emo, whilst Celia woke Andrea. Soon, all eleven girls were crowded around the computer.

“What’s going on?” Andrea asked, fairly certain that this was about the fight.   
“Yeah. Hurry up, Kel,” Taylor whined. “There’s a fat stink here and I wanna go.”  
“Oh yeah?” Andrea leaned forward, and coughed, hard, in Taylor’s direction, before exhaling as hard as she could. “Enjoy.” She grinned sweetly.  
“Shut up!” Kelly glared at Andrea even as Celia put a warning hand on the emo’s shoulder to push her back into her seat. “We’ve got a problem.”  
“Yeah, and I’ve got it’s hair,” Taylor shot a spiteful look at Andrea.  
“Taylor! Last time!” Kelly was growing exasperated.  
Taylor rolled her eyes, and muttered a swear word under her breath. Kelly glared at her for a moment, before turning back to the laptop.

“Right, girls. Listen. Last night, the Millenium Diamond, the largest diamond in the world, was stolen from the British Museum, where it was on show as part of a special exhibition.”

“So?” Chelsea asked. “Why are you getting your panties in a twist about that?”   
“Because of what the police have found at the scene.” Kelly glanced at the laptop again. “Polly’s hacked into the police report. A long, pink hair. A gold stud earring – heart shaped.” Andrea and Taylor glanced at one another.

“I lost my other gold heart ages ago,” Taylor whispered. Kelly lifted a warning finger.

“A red lipstick – it was found in the bin, apparently – and, just to tie it all together, a fragment of black and white material – a tie end, perhaps.”

“O. M. G.” The Posh Totty performed their hand gestures, perhaps without actually realizing what they were doing. 

“So that’s us,” Andrea slumped back in her seat.   
“And once they get us three, they’ll finger you lot too.” Taylor added, glaring defiantly at Annabelle and the Posh Totty.   
“But who?” Chloe asked. “How?”  
“Only one person I can think of with a grudge against us,” Annabelle bit her lip. “I’ll go and tell Auntie.”

***

“Buggeration.” Camilla’s favourite phrase echoed around the art studio, causing several pigeons, which had settled on the windowsills, to start, which in turn made Annabelle jump.  
“A firstie’s art project,” Camilla explained, gesturing with her paint brush.  
“Never mind that, Auntie. What are we going to do?”  
“Well, we can’t go on holiday anyway,” Camilla went back to her painting, carefully painting a shadow down the crack of the Minister for Education’s buttocks.  
“Who would try to frame us though?” Annabelle pressed.  
“Well…” Camilla dipped her paint brush into a jar of water.   
“You think it’s Daddy, don’t you?” Annabelle’s voice was filled with rage.   
“Actually, dear, your father has brains no bigger than a flea. Dear old Carnaby couldn’t pull off a scam like this.”  
Annabelle sighed in relief. “Then who…?”  
“Come on, girlie, use your nonce.” Camilla tapped Annabelle’s forehead with the handle of her paint brush. “Who hates us? Who wants us closed down? Who wants revenge on the both of us?”   
“Geoffrey Thwaites,” Annabelle breathed. “Of course. What are we going to do now?”  
“Do? What can we do?” Camilla peered again at her painting, and dipped her brush once more into the black paint to carefully forge the signature on the bottom. “We must simply wait, my girly. Watch and wait.”


End file.
